


306. iridescent

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [283]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 17:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: “How do you,” Helena says. “How do you sleep, when your baby is there, and what if she needs you. I worry. I wake up with my heart hurting, because I am scared for their hearts.”





	

The nursery is the quietest place Sarah knows: the eye in the hurricane of their lives. There’s a mobile hanging from the ceiling, made of what looks like bits of garbage and enthusiastic amounts of glitter. When it spins, it shines fractured light on the faces of the twins. Their eyelids flutter as they dream. Sarah can see the curve of her nose tucked into their noses, dreams their hands look like Kira’s. Sitting between the cribs, the world isn’t anything but dreaming light and the sound of the babies breathing.

The door creaks open and Helena is there, hair pulled back the way it is more and more often these days. (Sarah blames Alison for it.) When she sees Sarah there her mouth pulls into a smile, lopsided and sincere with delight, and she pulls the door closed and grabs a chair to place next to Sarah’s.

“They dream the same dreams,” she whispers with perfect assurance.

“Oh yeah?” Sarah says.

“Yes,” Helena says. “I think we would have also, if we hadn’t…” she looks into the crib on the left, like she’s making sure her child is still there. Paranoia heavy on Helena’s shoulders – Sarah knows Helena worries, Helena calls her at three in the morning saying _what if they are separated, what if they are lonely, what if they don’t find each other like we did_. Sarah is the expert, these days, at three-in-the-morning comfort calls.

She puts her hand on Helena’s shoulder and pushes her gently back into her seat. “They’re fine,” she says. “I’ve been keepin’ an eye on ‘em, promise.”

Helena sucks her lips between her teeth but accepts this. “They have been sleeping good,” she says.

“Glad to hear it,” Sarah says. “ _You_ been sleepin’, meathead?”

“Sometimes,” Helena says. “I do not need sleep.”

“Helena,” Sarah says, and winces a little bit: she sounds like S. Helena can hear it too, apparently, because she makes a face. Then that face flattens itself out and goes.

“How do you,” she says. “How do you sleep, when your baby is there, and what if she needs you. I worry. I wake up with my heart hurting, because I am scared for their hearts.”

“I was so scared, when I had Kira,” Sarah says, watching her leg bounce up and down as if it’s someone else’s leg – someone else’s fear, not attached to her at all. “Knew I’d screw it up somehow.”

“But you didn’t,” Helena says loyally.

Sarah raises her eyebrows: _checkmate_.

Helena blows a raspberry – then thinks better of it, partway through, and stops. Checks one crib. Checks the other crib. Visibly relaxes.

“S knew what to do,” Sarah says. “When I didn’t know, which was – more than I would have liked. Wanted to be the perfect mum for Kira. Knew I couldn’t. Knew when to let other people help.”

Utter and complete bullshit. She was awful at it. Held Kira too tight, let her go too often. There were so many fights with S, held in hissed tones outside Kira’s room, each and every one of them fought over who knew best.

But it’s what Helena needs to hear, she can tell. Helena needs to know that all the people she wants to be – they’ll step in and do things for her, if she can’t do them. Helena’s hair in Alison’s ponytail. Helena watching Sarah wide-eyed, wanting to be the version of Sarah that Sarah is feeding to her like a storybook.

“You can sleep sometimes, Helena,” Sarah says. “We’ve got you. Promise.”

Helena’s eyes are shiny, but they can both blame that on the lack of sleep. She scoots over in her chair so she’s close enough and then she rests her head on Sarah’s shoulder. Her hair is an uncomfortable, itchy frizz; Sarah leans her head against Helena’s head anyways.

“I’m so tired,” Helena says.

“Yeah, well,” Sarah says, “promise it gets—”

“I’m so happy,” Helena says. It hangs in the silent air for a moment; Sarah lets it. _Good_ , she thinks, but that word let out of her mouth wouldn’t be the drumbeat it is in her head: _good_ , heavy and solid as the beat of a heart. It is so fundamentally good, that Sarah is here, and Helena is here, and in the two cribs they sit between Helena’s babies are breathing slow and deep and even. Good like bones. Good like gravity.

Helena’s breathing is just as even as her babies’, and that’s how Sarah realizes Helena has somehow dozed off – right there, leaning on Sarah with her shoulders and back hunched over. Sarah huffs a chuckle under her breath, but doesn’t otherwise move. She remembers it, the way sleep would sneak up on her and swallow her whole – and then spit her out in minutes, heart racing, every bit of her terrified for the life she’d made.

“You’re gonna be great,” she murmurs, even though Helena can’t hear it. Above them the mobile keeps spinning, painting them with new light over and over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


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